


kiss it better

by led_zephlin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cooking, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fill, Short One Shot, also! martin has freckles bc fuck u, happy bday ellie you've suckered me into writing jm, i guess?, idk - Freeform, there's some slightly angsty reflection on jons childhood idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 15:03:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20490821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/led_zephlin/pseuds/led_zephlin
Summary: Birthday prompt fill for AsexualArchivist: "'kiss it better' for jm?"In which Jon attempts to do something normal, and it goes a bit wrong.





	kiss it better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsexualArchivist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsexualArchivist/gifts).

> Happy birthday, Ellie!!! I love you!!!  
I've never written JM before I hope this is good

Jon is a lot of things, but he's never really been a cook. He'd sort of wanted to be, when he was younger, but his enthusiasm to learn had always been tempered by his grandmother shooing him out of the kitchen. In her defense, he'd never been a very good listener; he'd been too busy pointing at various tools and asking what they were for. 

University had been a poor time for him to learn as well. He'd rather embodied the common student stereotype of eating takeout or living off of coffee and tea. Georgie had been a bit more creative than him, however, taking a small series of cooking classes. 

Still, that was then, and this is now. 

For all her ribbing, Melanie had been amicable enough to teach him the basics of some things. It was a trial and error process, sure, but it seemed as though he only needed practice. 

And practice he would, he determined to himself as he peered down at one of the recipes Melanie had sent him. It seemed relatively simple, just one of those things that required a variety of spices and vegetables tossed into a pan and cooked, but it did present the challenge of having to chop a multitude of things. Not difficult, of course, but certainly tedious. 

He'd had the foresight to not wield the knife in his burned hand (he wasn't _ stupid _, contrary to popular belief). Unfortunately, it seemed that for all his caution, it didn't matter. 

It was just a second, a momentary distraction, some bird fluttering by the window and catching his attention, and the knife veered slightly off course. 

Startled by the pain in his fingers, Jon dropped the knife and swore. It clattered to the floor loudly, narrowly missing his socked feet. 

"Jon? You alright?" Martin called from the living room. 

Jon didn't answer for a moment, cradling his injured fingers and watching as blood trickled lightly from the cuts across his knuckles. 

_ Damn _.

"Jon?" Martin poked his head through the door, "Are you okay?" 

"Er…not quite," Jon said, still somewhat transfixed by the red staining his fingers. 

"Did you cut yourself?" Martin asked, coming to examine Jon's hand.

"Not on _ purpose _," Jon said in a tone that was almost sulking, and Martin smiled almost fondly. 

"I think it looks worse than it is," Martin said. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up." 

* * *

There was always a gentleness to Martin that made Jon think that in another life, he could have done exceedingly well as a schoolteacher; or perhaps a nurse, Jon's mind supplied as he winced at the sting of antiseptic, and Martin murmured some sympathetic apology. 

Martin was fairly quick in wrapping the cuts in bandages, neat and tidy in a way that Jon knows he could never do. He lingered though, eyes soft in an almost sad way as his gaze traced the lines of warped flesh (courtesy of Jude Perry) on Jon's hand. There's a freckle by his eye that Jon had never noticed before (perhaps lost in the sea of similar dots spread across Martin's face), but he saw it now, and found it, quite like the rest of Martin, rather beautiful. 

Martin caught him staring, and smiled almost sheepishly. He raised the bandaged knuckles to his lips, light as a butterfly's wings in a way that made something stick in Jon's throat. 

He pressed a firmer kiss to the cup of Jon's palm before letting go, saying, "All better now?" There's a spark of something kind in his eyes, something that could be drowned in if it weren't so damn fond. 

Jon was a bit surprised by the rasp in his own voice when he replied, "Y-yes. All better." 

Martin brightened (nearly impossible, yes,) at that and beamed. "Good. Want some help with dinner? I'll cut up the rest while you measure things," he offered. 

"I'd like that," Jon said, something warm blooming in his chest. 

He's never been much of a cook, sure, but Martin seems to help him get better, and there's nothing wrong with improvement.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/kudos, please!!


End file.
